


A Taxing Time

by Tiffany_Park



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen, Humor, SG-3 fic, tax season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 15:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3733261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiffany_Park/pseuds/Tiffany_Park
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's tax season, and Colonel Makepeace becomes the unwilling host of an unexpected party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Taxing Time

TITLE: A Taxing Time

AUTHOR: Tiffany Park

STATUS: Complete

CATEGORY: Humor, Pointless Fluff, Tax Season

SPOILERS: None

SEASON: Based on the cast, I'd say Season Two

PAIRINGS: None

RATING:   PG

CONTENT WARNINGS: Minor language.

SUMMARY: It's tax season, and Colonel Makepeace becomes the unwilling host of an unexpected party.

ARCHIVE: Please ask.

DISCLAIMER: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:   My own taxes motivated me to write this silly thing. I was waaaay late with them this year. But I filed with three days to spare! *G*

* * *

April 12, 2015: More ancient Makepeace fic from before the Stone Age, when protohumans fought battles with rocks and sticks until the Great Black Monolith gave them a brain boost, at which point they started using animal thigh bones to bash each others' heads in and eventually evolved until they were smart enough to build rotating space stations and send people on ill-advised missions to the moon and Jupiter.

Eh, at least this story's appropriate for tax season.

* * *

 

 

**A Taxing Time**

 

**by**

**Tiffany Park**

 

 

"This base needs on-site tax help," Gunnery Sergeant Andrews ranted as he stomped into the office. "Colonel, you should talk to the general about that."

Colonel Makepeace and Lieutenant Johnson looked up from the report they had been working on. Sniggering, Johnson straightened up and moved to the side of the desk. Makepeace sank deeper into his chair, looked at the calendar, and sighed. April third. Twelve days to go. He hated this time of year.

At a more leisurely pace, Corporal Henderson followed Andrews into the office. He looked amused.

Makepeace was most definitely not amused. "I am not going to ask General Hammond for a tax center in the SGC. You can find H&R Block in any phone book."

"I can't afford that."

"Then pick up a copy of TurboTax or something."

Johnson said, "You know, if you didn't collect ex-wives the way other people collect stamps, your finances would be a lot simpler. How many exes is it now, anyway? Five? Six?"

"Only three!" Andrews snapped.

"I rest my case."

"How on Earth do you afford three ex-wives?" Makepeace asked Andrews. "I can barely afford just one and the kids."

Andrews said, "I only had kids with my first wife, sir. After that first divorce, I got smart and got prenups."

Johnson said to Henderson, "Says something about his taste in women, doesn't it?"

Andrews snorted. "At least none of them are sadists, unlike _someone's_ girlfriend."

"She's a physiotherapist," Johnson said defensively, "not a sadist."

"Same difference."

Makepeace instantly identified the physiotherapist in question. Having spent his share of time in the infirmary, he rather agreed with Andrews' assessment of her. "Are you seeing Karen again? I thought you broke up."

Johnson said, "We got back together."

Henderson laughed. "Again. It's like a never-ending merry-go-round with you two."

Makepeace scowled at the corporal. "And what are you doing here? You having tax issues, too?"

"Not me. I just wanted to see what Mike was all charged up about. Should've realized he'd screwed up his taxes. Mike never could do math."

Daniel Jackson poked his head in the open door. "Did someone mention taxes?"

Henderson said, "Yeah, Mike here wants the colonel to ask General Hammond to set up on-site tax prep services."

Daniel walked in, followed by Teal'c. "That's actually a pretty good idea. Lots of people have trouble with their taxes, and some of us have unique issues."

"What's your problem with them?"

Daniel sighed theatrically. "I've had nothing but trouble ever since I was declared dead, then undeclared dead."

"Which time?" Andrews said snidely.

Daniel was unfazed. "Doesn't matter. They've been screwed up ever since the first time. The others just add to the fun."

Henderson observed, "I suppose 'repeatedly undead' is a difficult status to resolve without a shotgun."

"Or a game controller," Andrews said with a smirk.

Daniel sniffed, thoroughly unimpressed by the zombie references, then gestured to his silent and intimidating companion. "Teal'c's issues are even weirder. Good thing he doesn't exist, at least as far as the IRS is concerned."

Johnson snickered. "I suppose it's 'cause he's an illegal alien..."

"Actually, the problem is something like that."

Andrews said, "I never thought about it before. Hey, Teal'c, you got a green card?"

Teal'c said, "What is a green card?"

"You're kidding, right?"

Teal'c looked inscrutable. Daniel shook his head.

"I never know when he's serious," Makepeace muttered.

Major Ferretti, his 2IC Lieutenant Madison, and Captain Carter all walked in the door no one had bothered to close. "I hear people still talking about taxes," Ferretti said.

"We were just discussing the unique issues some of us have," Daniel said.

"Yeah, and some of us are just cheap, lazy-ass procrastinators," Johnson added with a pointed look at Andrews.

"Really? I've had my taxes done since the end of February," Carter proclaimed.

"She's such a show off," Ferretti said.

"It's not that big a deal," she insisted. "I keep telling you, anyone can do taxes."

"Says the Ph.D. in astrophysics. We all know that's mostly really weirdo math. It's no wonder you don't think taxes are hard. The rest of us are ordinary mortals."

Daniel uttered a short laugh. "You don't know the half of it. Sam scares the IRS."

Andrews looked at Carter with interest. "Say, Captain, I don't suppose you'd be willing to help me out with my taxes? I could return the favor, like maybe doing some handyman work around your house or something."

"Andrews!" Makepeace said. "Don't harass her with personal requests like that."

"I'm just saying..."

Carter looked just as interested as Andrews. "It's no problem, Colonel. Really. I'm sure Sergeant Andrews' tax problems are easily resolved. Besides, I've been meaning to call someone to clean out my gutters. They got clogged during the winter."

"Deal!" said Andrews, sticking out his hand. He and Carter shook on it, both looking quite pleased.

"He'll be sorry," Daniel said quietly to Makepeace and Johnson. "I've seen Sam's math. I wasn't kidding when I said it was scary. Ordinary accounting bores her to tears, so she spices it up. I'd be shocked if she's never been audited. I kind of doubt the IRS approves of eleven-dimensional math."

Johnson chortled. "Well, then at least they'll be even. Andrews is like Home Improvement's Tim Taylor. He goes way overkill with household projects. He'll probably find a way to blow the gutters clear across the city."

The rest of Ferretti's team showed up, along with Major Kovacek and Sergeant Harriman. "Hey, so this is where the party moved to," said Kovacek. "So, is everyone still bitching about taxes, or has the topic finally moved on?"

Daniel said, "Still taxes. Teal'c and I stopped in because we overheard that Colonel Makepeace was going to get a tax center in the SGC. Everyone else just kind of followed us, I guess."

"Excuse me?" Makepeace said indignantly. "I said no such thing!"

"But that's what you were talking about."

"Yeah, and I said 'no,' too."

Kovacek said, "You know, that's a really good idea. You should go for it, Colonel. I bet the entire base would back you."

"Absolutely not," Makepeace said, but no one paid attention. They all started yammering about how great it would be to get a tax service on site.

Makepeace eyed the chattering group unhappily. He most definitely did not want the whole damn base thinking he was going to get them their own private tax center.

Besides, his office really wasn't big enough to accommodate more than a few people, and now thirteen were crammed in—eleven of them completely uninvited. Thankfully, he could lurk behind his desk. For everyone else, it was standing room only. They were probably breaking a dozen fire and safety codes.

Not to mention that it was pretty freaking loud, too.

It was getting even worse, because he did another head count and realized that two of Frasier's medics had magically appeared in his office. Where was everyone coming from? Even as he wondered, he noticed Siler, one of Kovacek's teammates, and a computer tech loitering just outside the door. At the rate things were going, half the base was going to show up here pretty soon.

This was getting completely out of control.

Now Kovacek's earlier comment finally sank in. "Kovacek, what did you mean, this is where the party moved to?" Makepeace asked sharply. "What party?"

Kovacek said, "Oh, we were all hanging out in Colonel O'Neill's office before we came here."

"And why aren't you still there?" Makepeace asked sourly. He felt a headache coming on from the din.

Kovacek suddenly looked sheepish. "Because he threw us out," he admitted.

What an excellent idea, Makepeace thought. "You know," he said as he pushed back his chair and slowly stood up, "there are days I wonder about O'Neill's intelligence, but times like this I realize he's actually pretty bright."

"Uh, oh," Andrews muttered to Henderson.

"Time to bug out," Henderson agreed. He and Andrews worked their way through the noisy crowd and slipped out the door.

Makepeace put his fingers in his mouth and let out an ear-splitting whistle. It was a mistake, since the headache that had been threatening him now blossomed into real pain. However, the whistle also performed its intended purpose, because the crowd abruptly quieted and stared at him.

Makepeace pointed to the door. "Everyone out," he said loudly. "Now!"

Looking startled, Carter said, "Colonel, I hope we haven't done anything to offend you—"

"Just leave." He started herding people out the door. "I'm sure you all have work to do. If not, you can go bug Colonel O'Neill."

Daniel said, "But he already—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. He threw you out. Go thank him for me, why don't you?" Makepeace said sarcastically. O'Neill would probably laugh his ass off over this. "Now get out, all of you."

Visibly disappointed, the crowd filed out the door. Makepeace brought up the rear, encouraging them to keep moving. The hallway filled up with people still going on and on about taxes.

Johnson was last out. "Colonel, did you want to finish that report now?"

Makepeace's headache made the decision for him. "Just go away," he said. "We'll finish it up later."

The crowd wandered down the corridor. Unfortunately, General Hammond came walking in the opposite direction and he had to get through them. He stopped briefly to talk with them, then zeroed in on Makepeace.

"Colonel," Hammond said. "Did I miss something?"

Makepeace carefully shook his aching head. "No, sir. Absolutely nothing."

"Really? I was told you have something to ask me."

Makepeace could have groaned aloud. "No, General, nothing. Nothing at all." No way was he ever, ever, ever asking Hammond for an on-base tax service.

Hammond looked curious, but accepted Makepeace's word. "Very well. Carry on, Colonel." He continued down the hall.

Makepeace retreated into his office, closed and locked the door, and leaned against it. The empty room was blissfully silent. He took some aspirin and sat down at his desk.

In the newfound peace, he spared a thought for his own taxes. Time to take his own advice. He looked up a phone number and punched it into the phone's keypad. "Hello," he said when the line connected. "Is this H&R Block?"

 

 

***** end *****

 

 

_April 2009_

 

 


End file.
